Rythmic Proceedings
by Jck'sBrknHeart
Summary: All chapters are based upon my favorite lyrics, and the lives of those featured on the television show Supernatural. Chapter 5 is Bobby-centric.
1. American Love

**Summary: **Dean finally meets a woman who excepts him for who he is. Dean/OC.  
**Disclaimer: **Of course I don't own Dean Winchester (or Sammy, or Bobby), because if I did I would be humping him. I'm not, by the way. Supernatural (c) Eric Kripke. "American Love" is the production of Andrew McMahon and the band Jack's Mannequin. It is from their CD _The Glass Passenger_. (Lyrics appear in bold.)  
**Author's Note: **Review, please?

* * *

**I. American Love**

_**You see I got this American Love  
A brand new planet in my solar system  
I kiss her neck but I just can't look her in the eye  
You leave for college at the turn of autumn  
I spent the winter diving to the bottom  
I kiss your neck but I just can't look you in the eye  
yeaaahh**_

"Dean, did you hear what I just said?" She questioned as she glanced over at him from her spot on the bed. Her tangled mess of curls splayed over her right shoulder as she turned and she couldn't help but to notice the fact that he wasn't even looking at her. There he was, lying beside her in the bed they had shared for almost a year (or as often as his 'line of work' would allow during that year) and he couldn't even bare to look at her.

It wasn't that he didn't care about her, hell he would even go so far as to say that he _loved_ her, but he couldn't bare the news she had just given him. What had suddenly given her the urge to go back to school and pursue her Masters of the Fine Arts degree? He rolled over, wrapping an arm around her naked middle and then pressed her body to his as he kissed her neck gently, "I heard you."

"I leave this autumn," She replied, glancing down at him.

"Why?" He replied sounding rather muffled with his face pressed closely to her neck.

"I told you, Dean, I'm going back to school."

The shear annoyance in her voice made him grimace. Still, he pursued his inquisition of the young woman's feelings and thoughts, "But _why_ are you going back to school, and don't say **to learn**. That much is obvious."

"Do you really want to know?" She asked, still peering down at him with skepticism that he didn't see.

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to know, so just tell me."

"Antoinette," She replied, simply enough.

Instantly a pang of guilt ran through the thirty-something's mind and body. Antoinette was a French woman who he had met while hunting down a vampire nest in Seattle. Dean was in the wrong place at the wrong time, you could say. Or you could say that he was a self-fulfilling prophecy. Women he genuinely liked always, well, went away. Cassie had accused him of being crazy when he told her the truth about his work, Anna had gotten her grace back, and now, Ross was going to college states away where he almost _never_ had work. Still, he hadn't known that at the time and he wasn't even drunk enough to claim that he hadn't really known better.

Word had probably gotten back to Ross by Sam or Bobby, and he couldn't really blame them. Rosaline, or Ross as he called her, was too good for him. Her heart was too big, and being as such, she would forgive him for almost everything. _**Almost**_, being the key word, and cheating being the one exception.

Now, he could do one of two things. He could take the coward's way out and accuse her of things he knew she'd never do, or he could admit his fault and try to convince her to stay with him.

_**Big hearts big hearts  
Big hearts are for breaking  
(big hearts are for breaking)  
Whoaa oh  
Big hearts big hearts  
Big hearts are for breaking**_

Ross had been everything to him. She had nursed him back to health after a particularly gruesome battle with a demon; had sewn up more than several wounds after she found him half-dead on the side of the road. She even offered that he stay with her until he healed properly.

_"You can even have the bed," She had offered him as he sat pitifully in the seat next to her. _

_He glanced up at her with his eyebrows raised in a way that she would grow to love, and then smirked, "Will you be in it with me?" _

_She rolled her eyes, "Easy there, tiger. I doubt you can stand up without me helping you, let alone have sex." _

_He simply smiled in return. _

Needless to say, that didn't last long. But, it was the sex that kept Dean coming back. _Something_ had him hooked to her; slowly, she became the addiction that he couldn't live without. He couldn't wrap his head around that fact, and maybe that was the reason that Antoinette had come into his arms so easily that night at the bar. He didn't trust his feelings for Ross, nor did he trust her feelings for him.

It wasn't until he realized that she was crying that the fact might have been that her heart was simply too big. She was too willing to accept him for the way he was, with the possible consequences of loving him being all but completely disregarded from her mind. She hadn't cared that investing her love in him was surely a heart-break waiting to happen. That's what made her so desirable.

_**You see I got this critical conscience  
A brand new black hole in the solar system  
I dig my grave but I just cant stand to step inside**_

Maybe the fact was that Dean _did _make mistakes. Okay, so he obviously knew that he wasn't God. He had been to Hell, had seen Angels (or Angel-possessed Humans), and he knew that he wasn't even _close_ to being divine or eternally damned. But he had been so sure that her feelings for him weren't real. Maybe he had been misjudging the situation; after all, Dean was fairly new to this "love" thing.

"Sammy," Dean said, looking over at his brother from the driver's side of his precious Impala as they worked their way to another hunt.

"What Dean?" Sammy asked, not even bothering to glance over at his older brother from the book in his lap.

Dean paused, not sure of what to say or how to say it, and then pondered Sam's responses. Some of them were highly amusing, some pitiful, but this was something Dean needed Sam's opinion about, and so, "Do you think I could have been wrong?"

"Dean, you're wrong a lot of the time," Sam replied, a smile creeping over his features as he continued reading his book.

Dean scoffed.

"You're going to have to be more specific."

"About Ross."

"Ross? What about her?"

"Wrong about her not really loving me."

"You don't think she really loves you?" Sam asked, finally lifting his eyes from the book and looking over at his brother in the most incredulous way he could manage.

Dean shook his head, "I don't know. I didn't think she did, but then-"

"Then what?" Sam asked, skeptically. He could only imagine the countless remarks Dean could have made to Ross that would have made him look like a complete and utter ass-wipe.

"She was crying."

"About?"

"You remember that French girl?"

Sam's eye twitched in disgust as he held back the vomit, "Unfortunat-- oh no, you didn't."

"I did."

"As Bobby would say, you're an idjit."

Dean glared at his baby brother as they arrived at their destination. Several library trips and a visit to the graveyard later ended up with Dean staring down into the grave he had just dug. He knew he need to salt and burn the bones, but he could help but think of it as a metaphor for the relationship he had just ruined. Begrudgingly, however, he threw salt on the bones and a lit match on top of it. He watched as the skeleton turned to ash as the casket blazed on.

_**And when they find out they'll sound every siren  
Break the door down to find the baby crying  
You thought I knew Its just not right to tell a lie**_

"Boy, are you _stupid_?" Bobby chastised, "Ross was the best thing you've had for a long time. Did your father and I teach you nothing?" He continued grumbling about Dean's stupidity for several more minutes. It wasn't the longest lecture he had ever sat through, but it was growing alarmingly close before his cell phone interrupted Bobby's train of thought.

"Are you gonna get that?"

Dean pulled the phone from his pocket and looked at the caller ID with utmost surprise. His moss colored eyes brightened as he flipped it open.

"Hello?"

The all too present eagerness in his voice was off putting. That was the only thing that he could think of when Ross slammed her end shut, simultaneously smashing his dreams to smithereens. He grunted in response, slowly clamped his own phone shut.

Bobby and Sam sat staring at him.

"What?"

"Boy, you had better go after her!" Bobby urged, and that was the only push that Dean needed.

He made it to California in a record time of 12 hours from Bobby's house in South Dakota. With Bobby and Sammy's help, he found out where she was living in California and was rushing up the stairs to her apartment on adrenaline alone. When he got to the door he paused, breathing heavily as he listened. He heard sirens rushing past the building, and faintly, he heard crying from the inside of the building. He heard John Cusack's voice softly echoing from the back of the apartment, and could imagine her, her wavy hair billowing down her shoulders in soft waves, baggy sweats covering her legs and one of his old t-shirts draped over her leaner body, eyeliner likely running down her tanned face with her eyes trained on the TV as she watched her favorite actor propose a relationship to some actress or another. He could imagine all of this and for this reason, he didn't even bother knocking.

He burst through her apartment door with the intensity of an L.A. SWAT officer and rushed to the back of the apartment where she was very much as he depicted. Her long hair was frazzled, knotted in places even. There were rings of mascara dripping down her face, tainting it. There were a pair of short black shorts covering very little of her legs instead of the sweatpants he had imagined, and his t-shirt had turned into one of his old flannels that Bobby had given him, but all else seemed to coincide with his premonition. The movie was Must Love Dogs and, indeed, John Cusack was trying to convince Diane Lane that he was the guy for her. Dean snapped back to reality as the woman in front of him slowly took the metal spoon from her mouth, simultaneously raising an eyebrow.

There was silence for a few minutes that was only briefly interrupted by the sounds of the movie before she paused it with the remote.

"I love you." He told you, "I'm sorry I've never told you that."

She blinked, shuffling through her mind all the reasons why he was _really_ there, "Dean, I dont know if you're aware of this or not, but when someone loves another person, they don't typically cheat on them."

Dean smiled the way he knew she had always loved, "I'm new at this, so I didn't actually know that I was 'cheating' on you. I deserve another chance."

And Ross knew that he did.

_**Big hearts big hearts  
Big hearts are for breaking  
(big hearts are for breaking)  
Whoaa oh  
Big hearts big hearts  
Big hearts are for breaking**_

Ross reemerged, her face still moist and red from scrubbing off the excess make-up. By Dean's count, it took five minutes for her to wash the make-up from her face. Quite honestly, Dean thought that this was the most beautiful he had ever seen her. He didn't know if it was because of the natural glow of her skin after washing it, or if it was just the fact that he hadn't seen her in so long. Or if this was some side-effect of the feelings he had for her. Still, he had to know. Did she feel the same way about him?

The bathroom door was directly across from the bed which he was sitting on. He stared at her seriously for a moment and took in all the things he knew he never attempted to before. She was fairly small, both short and thin, and while she _was_ busty (after all, that's how Dean liked his women!), she wasn't exactly Pam Anderson either. But, he had already known all that. What he didn't notice were the small things. Things like, when she smiled she only had one dimple. She ran her hands back through her hair when she was nervous, and gnawed at her nails in an unpleasant way when she was extremely anxious.

She took her coffee with _a lot_ of milk and ate as healthy as her random cravings would allow. Her right knee had muscle spasms at the weirdest times, and she hugged tightest when she knew that the person she was hugging was happy. There were a billion other things about her, and as much as they mattered, Dean couldn't help but not care.

He paused, staring up at her.

"Do you feel the same way about me?"

She looked at him as if he had just said something ridiculous.

"What?"

"Are you _fucking _kidding me?"

"No?"

"You are an idiot, you know that?"

Dean couldn't help it, he cracked a smile.

"Oh, God, you are an idiot," She remarked.

"Come here," He replied.

_**And now there's no turning back  
In the face of the sweat we share  
There's nowhere to run  
You're so unprepared  
It's a new heart attack  
Brand new bricks on my back  
Don't say a word they might find us there**_

Slowly, curiously, Ross took slow steps toward the man who had obviously been on some kind of drug while he had been with her every other time previous to this. How could he _not_ tell how much she cared for him? Besides the fact that it _was_ Dean and Dean, as many people had noticed, could be dense. Very dense indeed.

But that was all behind them. The immature stage of the relationship was over, and they were both moving forward. Ross was afraid of what that meant for them. She knew, as much as any girl did, that guys like Dean don't stick around forever. Eventually they move on, and she was unprepared for that, she always would be. Even if she could somehow prepare herself for the days to come, it would still break her heart when he left for good. Any fool could see that.

Before long, she was standing with her bare knees touching his and he was reaching out, attempting to pull her to him. She fell onto him, and he in turn fell back on to the bed. She squeaked out in surprise causing a chuckle from both of them, breaking the somber mood that had once filled the atmosphere of her dank apartment bedroom, but doing nothing to appease the sexual tension that remained (as it almost always did) between them. That might always remain between them.

They did the only thing they could to fill that void.

They ripped each other's clothes off and hand sweaty, mind-blowing sex. As Rosaline and Dean laid there, still breathing heavily long after the heat of ecstasy had finally left them, his cell phone began to ring from the pocket in the pants that lay long discarded across the room on the floor. She looked up at him expectantly; her face against his bare chest; arm draped around his abs. It was too perfect; he didn't want it to end.

The phone continued to ring for several minutes and after several tries, and Ross continued staring at Dean expecting him to roll out of bed and answer the phone.

"Maybe, if we're quiet, they'll leave us alone. They'll never find us here."

"I'm sorry, love, but it just doesn't work that way." She replied, her fingers tracing circles on his skin that felt so insanely good that Dean never wanted to leave his spot next to her. Eventually, he would have to, but why did it have to be so soon?

Begrudgingly, he rolled from the bed and got to the annoyance. He was prepared to tell anyone who was on the other line (Bobby or Sammy alike) to fuck themselves, when he snapped the phone open and made his way back to bed. She wrapped her arms around him again, which made him feel like he could never leave, as Bobby began talking a million miles a minute. From what Dean caught of the conversation (he was far too busy imagining Ross naked, even though he didn't need to), he knew it was urgent and he knew he would have to leave soon.

"I'll see you tomorrow afternoon then?" Bobby asked.

And Dean knew that he would have to leave in the morning, "Yeah."

_**You see I got this American love  
A hidden planet in my solar system  
Keep your eyes shut I just cant stand to say goodbye**_

Dean awoke the next morning before the sun even thought about coming up, and looked down at the sleeping brunette. He knew, no matter where he was (Heaven, Hell, California, Ohio, or Kansas) he would always have her. He had to be back in South Dakota in less than 20 hours, but he couldn't bring himself to go. She was his secret, his American love, and he wasn't ready to give that up just yet.

An hour or so passed as he lay there watching her sleep, and contemplating all the ways he could stay. In the end, he knew he had to go but he could come back. More importantly, **he would be back**. As gently as he could, he removed himself from her arms but he failed not to wake her up. Her brown eyes popped open, questioningly as they searched for him. She wrapped an arm around him again cuddling into him pleasantly.

"D'you have to go?" She muttered, ramming many of her words together. She stared up at him again with an incredible amount of innocence in her eyes (even though he knew she was anything but).

"Close your eyes," He whispered as she let go of him. He kissed her forehead, "I don't want to have to say goodbye."


	2. Miracle

**II. Miracle**

**Summary: **Sammy has to find a way to save Dean, and a deal with the devil is NOT an option.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Sam, Dean, or Bobby. I only own Ross and the nice Indian doctor. The lyrics of "Miracle" are copyrighted to Dave Grohl and the Foo Fighters.

**Author's Note: **I _do not _support Wincest. If you've come here looking for that, you'll be sorely disappointed! Anyway, this is more about the brotherly relationship between Sam and Dean.

* * *

_**Crazy but I'm relieved this time  
Begging for sweet relief of blessing empty sky**_

For as long as he could remember, Dean had been there. He had been protecting him since he was only six months old. And did Dean ever get on Sammy's nerves?

You could frickin' bet on it.

But he was his brother, and now it was Sammy's turn to protect him. The last time Sam had attempted this task, he had failed. He had failed _hard core_, but he wouldn't this time. Too many people depended on Dean now, himself included. He could hardly imagine a life without his brother bitching every day about his choices. He had to remind himself of what it would be like, without him, and he didn't like what it was like last time.

So he wouldn't let that happen again.

Dean was going to pull through this, _dammit_, come Hell or the second Great Flood.

But he wasn't going to make a deal; not this time. He didn't need one this time. Dealing with demons was a pain in the ass, anyway. Sam was smarter than that now, and Dean wasn't dead _yet_. He was in pain, sure, but he wasn't six foot under, and that was what kept Sammy searching the internet for the person he needed until the wee hours of the morning.

Sammy just couldn't wait to be back in the Impala with his brother at his side, driving past more and more nothing as they headed towards their next hunt. It wasn't so far away now, was it?

_**Dying behind these tired eyes  
I've been loosing sleep  
Please come to me  
Tonight**_

The youngest of the Winchester boys hadn't slept in three days. Dean, on the other hand, hadn't been awake in three days. The doctors had him on sedatives and pain killers until they could think of something _anything_ to keep the young man from dying in their ICU. They had figured it was an aneurysm or a hemorrhage, but in butt-fuck nowhere Nebraska, they couldn't be sure.

By the time Sam had found a doctor with the necessary credentials and gotten a hold of him, Dean was damn near dead.

And his girlfriend, Ross, was crying almost constantly. She was afraid that she would lose him or that if he recovered, he wouldn't be Dean anymore. Even Sammy knew that if he were to turn into a quadriplegic or lose his memory, Dean would rather be dead.

When the Doctor strolled into the waiting room that morning, Sam knew that there was no one better for the job. He could tell by looking at the tan-skinned man with nimble fingers and a quiet voice. Sam just hoped that Dean was fixable.

"Are you Sam Winchester?" The man asked, curiously.

Sam was the only person in the room besides Rosaline, and since they had spoken on the phone, the doctor could logically guess that Sam was the male. Sammy nodded, "You're Dr. Sanders, then?"

He nodded quickly, "The staff here is preparing your brother for surgery."

Ross stood, apparently getting antsy at the thought of surgery, and left the room quickly. Dr. Sanders noticed as the young woman rushed out of the room anxiously, "Will she be okay?"

Sam shrugged, "That depends on how well the surgery goes."

"I'm optimistic about the outcome," He nodded.

"How long will it take?"

"That's hard to say," He replied, "It could be anywhere from four to ten hours. I'll have a nurse tell you the status every couple of hours, if you'd like that."

Sam nodded, "Very much, thank you."

Dr. Sanders looked at his watch, "I should be getting ready now." He left promptly after that, and Sammy went to find Ross.

He found her, almost an hour later, in an unexpected place -- the hospital chapel. She was on her knees; her eyes closed, head bowed. Sam had never thought of Ross as much of a religious girl, after all she _was_ dating his brother, but there she was praying as fervently as the most devout Catholic.

She must have heard him enter, because she raised her head to look up at him, "Have you called Bobby, yet?"

Sam shook his head, "I was looking for you."

"Maybe you should... you know, just... just in case things don't go well."

"I will."

He sat down beside her, and looked around the dingy chapel. It smelled like mildew intermingling with the scent that most churches held. There were red glasses with white candles flickering inside them along the left wall, a crucifix sat in the middle of the room staring down the main aisle way, and the alter was on a stage that was no more than five inches from the ground. The pews were wooden, oak or cedar from what Sam could tell, and were uncomfortable to sit on. The floors were wooden, too, and probably just as uncomfortable to kneel on. He looked up skeptically.

"Do you pray a lot?"

She shook her head, "No."

"Then why are you praying now?"

"Because Dean needs me to," She replied, simply. There was a pause, "Why _aren't _you praying?"

"It's never helped me before," Sam replied, "Why would it help me now?"

"It can't hurt, Sam," She replied, looking at him skeptically. "I never imagined you to be as .... pessimistic about God as your brother is."

"I didn't used to be."

"So what changed?"

"Everything." Sam replied, and got up. He had to call Bobby now, and he didn't like where the conversation was going.

_**Hands on a miracle  
I got my hands on a miracle  
Leave it or not, hands on a miracle  
And there ain't no way  
Let you take it away  
**_

"Bobby?"

"How's Dean doin'?"

"He's in surgery now," Sam replied, "Ross seems to think it'd be a good idea if you came down here."

"Pulling into the parking lot now, Sam," Bobby replied.

Sam wanted to chuckle, but he couldn't. The impending death of his brother was keeping him from being the least bit light hearted. Although, Sam knew, if Dean was awake he would have probably punched him and told him to lighten up. After all, this wasn't the worst that Dean had been through. Not by far.

He had been electrocuted. His heart had given out on him. He had been ripped to shreds by hell hounds, and had even survived the fiery pits of Hell. Dean wasn't going to give up with out one hell of a bloody fight, and Sam knew that. But even with thinking of all of those things, Sammy couldn't help but worry.

Bobby walked in the door, and hugged him the way that a father hugs his son, before asking where Ross was. After twenty minutes of idle chat, they decided that heading back up to the waiting room would be for the best. A nurse came by about forty minutes later, and told them that the surgery was going well, but it would still be a few more hours. Bobby relayed the message to Ross who returned an hour later.

"How does Dean always get himself into these situations?" Bobby asked as he sat there with his arms crossed over his chest.

Sam shrugged, "He's prone to being unhealthy."

Ross laughed, "And you're prone to being the damsel in distress."

"What?" Sam asked, snapping his head in her direction.

"Oh, Dean's told me how many times you've been abducted and he has to come save your ass."

Bobby smiled, amused, "He isn't the only one who gets himself into trouble."

"Oh, Dean's going to get his," Sam replied.

"Right." Ross replied, "You mean the world to him, you know that? You mean more to him than the Impala, or me, or sex even."

"I matter to him more than sex?" Sam raised a brow, "I think you've been drinking too much of Dean's kool-aid lately."

"No, really, you do." Ross said. Her face was serious again.

---

Sammy understood now how much he truly meant to Dean. For as long as he could remember, he thought the only reason Dean would protect him was because their father had demanded it of him. Dean was just a soldier following orders before, but now he was a caring brother. Everything had changed for them once again.

By the time Dr. Sanders had come out of operation with a tired, but pleased, smile plastered on his face, Sam had been holding his breath for hours. When the nimble-fingered medicine man told him that the surgery had been a success, Sam finally felt like he could _finally_ breathe again. It had been the longest six hours of his life. The unfortunate news was that no one could visit him until the next morning.

The next morning, Sam was the first there. Bobby had told him to try and get sleep, but Sam just couldn't do it. What if Dean needed him?

When Sam burst in the hospital doors at 5 AM, the nurse gently told him that no one was allowed visitors until 8 AM. And so, Sam trudged back to the motel begrudgingly. When he woke up at 9:30, he found Bobby and Ross staring at him.

"Morning sleepy head," Ross began, "Let's go see your brother."

Of course, Bobby and Ross had enough sense to let Sam and Dean have their little 'bromance' moment before they dared entered the hospital room to shower Dean with their own versions of love.

Sam sat in the chair next to Dean.

"Dude, who won the auction of your soul this time?"

"No one, Dean," Sam replied, "I found a _doctor_ to heal you."

"Sure you did!"

"I did."

"If you made a deal, I'm killing you."

"Right," Sammy laughed, "Like you'd even _think_ about it."

"You've been talking to Ross haven't you?"

"She's here, too," Sam shrugged, "So is Bobby."

"Why aren't they in here?" Dean questioned, finding a way to sit up finally.

Sam shrugged, "Do you want me to go get them?"

"Might as well, you know, before Ross kills someone."

_**Everything th**__**at we survived  
It's gonna be alright  
Just lucky we're alive  
Got no vision I've been blind  
Searching every way you're right here in my sights**_

"If you _ever _go and decide you want to almost die on me again," Ross threatened, "I'm going to have to tie you to the bed, so there will be no possibility of you hurting yourself."

Both Bobby and Sam smiled amusedly; Ross was funny when she was trying to be angry.

"Woman, please," Dean said. "It's not like I can just decide to get a hemorrhage."

"Did you really just call your girlfriend 'woman' boy?" Bobby said warningly.

"I'm allowed to be a jerk, I just had brain surgery and everything is kind of... fuzzy." Dean smiled, as he grabbed Ross' hand.

"You're just lucky you're alive, both of you," Bobby said, "As many close calls as the both of you've had - I'm damn surprised you boys haven't given me a heart attack."

"They make a _habit_ out of this!?" Ross flushed, "Oh, I think I'm going to be sick."

"We don't do it on purpose," Sam promised the brunette.

---

"Thanks for saving my ass back there, Sammy," Dean said, getting behind the steering wheel of his Impala for the first time in almost three weeks. He had recovered at an almost alarmingly fast rate, but once Dr. Sanders assured them that Dean was fine, there was no stopping Dean from leaving.

"No problem Dean," Sam replied as the pulled out of the parking lot and headed out east to another job.

Dean looked over at his brother, "So what kind of stuff was Ross telling you when I was in a coma?"

Sam laughed, "I'm more important than sex to you."

Dean laughed, too, "She **obviously** has _no _idea what she's talking about."

"Really, Dean?"

"Dude, don't go all --- _Steel Magnolias_ on me."

Sam raised an eyebrow, "You've seen _Steel Magnolias_?"

Dean shifted his eyes to the road, "Ross made me watch it with her."

"Sure she did," Sam laughed.

Dean grumbled something about TNT and nothing else on.

"Thanks for saving me, too, Dean." Sam said, after enduring nearly three hours of Sweet Child O' Mine and the rest of the Guns 'N Roses songs.

"Huh?" Dean asked. He had been in the middle of singing "Welcome to the Jungle" when Sam interrupted.

"Thank you for everything."

"Dude, really, enough of this touchy feely, sappy shit." Dean replied as they pulled up in front of their next job. He got out of the car, and for the first time since Sammy was four years old (i.e. naïve and unaware) he looked up to his brother again.

_**Away. . . **_


	3. Another Heart Calls

**III. Another Heart Calls **

**Summary: **Sam rediscovers what its like to need a woman to love him as well as what it means to have him love her back.

**Author's Note: **For WebofDreams89.

**Disclaimer: **As always, I don't own Sam or Dean Winchester. _Another Heart Calls_ is copyrighted by The All-American Rejects.

* * *

_**Do you remember when we didn't care  
We were just two kids that took the moment when it was there  
Do you remember you at all  
Another heart calls**_

Years had passed since the last time he had seen her. In fact, it had been nearly a decade since the last time he laid eyes on her long crimson locks and wide, chocolaty eyes. In her opinion, it had been far too long. After all, even at seventeen years old, he had been a handsome boy with exceedingly nice shoulders. And boy, was she a sucker for shoulders.

He had made promises he knew that he couldn't keep, had told her blatant lies about himself and his feelings for her, but seeing her now made him change his mind. Maybe he had loved her. Maybe he _had_ wanted to stay there with her, forever. He couldn't quite remember, but the sudden nausea in his stomach was a sure sign that there was something there between them now.

She didn't mind that he had forgotten. In fact, she was slightly surprised he recognized her at all. She was surprised to see him there, of that she was positive. She would have never guessed that Sam Winchester had become a "paranormal investigator", a regular Fox Mulder. He had grown up to be even easier on the eyes than she had remembered, and their time together in high school was a mere nothing in comparison to the time they were going to spend together now.

She was especially grateful that his pesky brother Dean was with his own 'babe of a girlfriend' in God-knows-where, because, if she remembered correctly, he had more than once ruined her chances at getting laid. And that wasn't going to happen, not this time. You see, it wasn't _only_ her heart that had been aching for him all these years.

_**Yeah I remember when we stole the night  
We'd lie awake but dreaming 'til the sun would wash the sky**_

Sam could now remember all the things that she had brought up as they sat on the cold, metal benches of their mutual high school's football stadium, sharing a couple of beers and a plethora of old memories that had, in Sam's mind at least, been covered in inches of dust and years of spider webs. Now that they were back, he had wished they had never gone away. His heart skipped a beat as he glanced over at her face, which was illuminated by the security lights behind them, as she stared off to the west. The sun was setting in shades of gold, and it was, quite honestly, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Do you remember that time we laid down there, all night?" She asked, softly. The beer in her hand fizzed in its glass chamber as she took a long, smooth gulp.

He nodded, slowly, "That was the first time someone told me they loved me that wasn't my dad or Dean."

She laughed softly, "I can't imagine Dean telling you he loved you. He doesn't approve of 'chick flick' moments, I remember that much."

She glanced over at him as one of those beautiful, wide smiles spread over his facial features; she had always loved it when he smiled.

"I told you I loved you too," He said, suddenly, "And then Dean found us there --"

"In a rather compromising position, I might add," She laughed again, "Your brother always ruined everything."

Sam leaned back and folded his arms across his broad chest, "He still does."

"He's not here to ruin it now," She remarked and he almost gave himself whiplash as he turned to look at her.

_**Just as soon as I see you  
But didn't I, but didn't I tell you  
As deep as I need you,  
You wanna leave it all  
**_

She laid there, her red hair messy and tangled, with her head on his chest tracing lines down his muscled abdomen with pale, slender fingers. She wanted to tell him all the things she had never been able to. She wanted to tell him how much she needed him after his father and brother once again up rooted him to another high school, another town. She wanted to tell him that she still needed him now, that the problems from her past caused by an alcoholic father and a lethargic mother, were still there, were still haunting her. And he was the only thing that had made her feel whole again. He was the only thing that had made her feel human again.

He stirred beneath her and somehow, she knew he wouldn't stay too much longer. He would leave, to meet up with his brother in Kansas, or Arkansas, or Ohio, and she wouldn't see him again for another decade. She didn't know if she could live without him, but she knew she didn't want to. She only wanted to see him, to touch him, to hear his voice at the very least, every day for the rest of her life. But, how would he, the boy who had evaded her so long ago, take to that? How do you explain to someone that you had loved them even in their absence, even though you knew that they had lied to you?

She glanced upward, and saw that his hazel eyes were open, examining the world around him; the world being no more than a 13 by 10 ft. bedroom in an average sized apartment not even two blocks from their old high school. The walls were a cheery yellow color, a failed attempt at making the optimism she had once had as a child come back. The floors were a sustainable Bamboo and were currently littered with their long discarded attire that likely still held the scent of beer.

He kissed her forehead as she laid her head back down, causing her to inadvertently return to the real world, "Has any one called?"

He was already thinking of leaving.

She shook her head in response, and in a matter of minutes was not surprised to see him get up, pulling on his boxers and pants as he did so. They were barely hanging on to his hips as he dialed his brother. She only caught bits and pieces of his conversation, but she could hear enough to know that he couldn't leave, not yet at least; Dean wouldn't let him, _he_ wanted to stay with his _"girlfriend" _for another day or two.

"Yeah Dean, but we have **work** to do." Sam said, irritably. There was a pause, "No, no. Okay! I'll stay here then. Yeah, call me when you've had your fill of 'mind-blowing sex'." The last few words came off sharp, sarcastic even, and caused her to smirk. Sam came back in the room.

There was silence for a while, and in a quick bit of judgment, Quinn finally told Sam what she had been wanting to since she had first laid eyes on him in that cheap, black suit.

"You're the only person who's been able to make me feel human for years," She blurted ineloquently as she stared up at him with her innocent brown eyes. He looked at her strangely, wondering how _he_ of all people could make _her_ feel **human**.

And then she began to cry, and Sam couldn't help himself. He had to find out what was wrong, what had been wrong since he had left nearly ten years ago.

Sam and Dean's lives looked like a fairy tale compared to what she had gone through, from the fighting parents to the death of her grandmother, and it all seemed to fall apart right after he left her life. He wasn't surprised when she told him that she needed him; he knew she was still holding on to the shred of hope that some one, _anyone_ could be her hero.

"But that doesn't change the fact that I still have to leave," He said, giving her one of the serious looks she had remembered so vividly. They were the same words he had used a decade ago, and they broke her heart all over again.

_**What can I do?  
Say it's true  
Or everything that matters breaks in two  
Say it's true  
I'll never ask for anyone but you**_"Please, don't look at me like that," He said, his facial expression softening after figuring out that he had hurt her feelings. Usually his brother was the insensitive one, but Sam was sounding more and more like the old Dean. "What else can I do?"

"Say that it's true; tell me that you love me back. Tell me you've thought of me...anything," The red-head replied, urging the giant of a man before her to at least give her some feign of hope.

"And if I don't?" Sam asked, trying not to sound like an asshole and knowing that he wasn't succeeding.

"My world will come crashing down," She replied. She slowly began to realize that maybe he never did feel the same way about her. Maybe she had poor judgment about him as she had about almost every other male she had ever cared for. Maybe he was just a big jerk, like his brother and probably also like his father. What if he _couldn't_ help her?

_**Talk to me  
I'm throwing myself in front of you  
This could be the last mistake  
That I would ever wanna do  
Yeah all I ever do is give  
It's time you see my point of view**_

"Sam, say something." She demanded.

This was all too fast for him. She still didn't know anything about him. Quinn would never know about Jessica, and how much it had broke his heart to see her dying right before his eyes. She would never know what it was like to not escape the expectations that your parents had made for you. Even though he would never admit it out loud, he still believed Jessica was "the one". He had wanted to marry her, had wanted her to have his children. Sammy had wanted to have a family of his own, a settled family, a normal family. Now that he knew that was an impossibility of the highest sort, Sam hadn't even thought of finding another woman like Jessica.

But, did he care for the woman sitting in front of him? Yes, he did.

"Sam," She said softly. Her voice was quiet, wavering, as if she knew that there would never be an answer. The look in her eyes told him that she believed that he was a jerk.

He sat down beside her and as he did so, he decided that he would tell her everything. He would tell her everything he could never tell Dean or his Dad or Bobby. He would tell her about Jessica, about Madison, about Ruby. He could only hope that he could make her understand the way he wanted her to. He could only hope that she would be gracious, forgiving.

"This could be the biggest mistake of my life, but I'm going to put myself on the line for you," Sam began.

He told her about how he had basically given up his life for the 'family business', how his life was now dedicated to the hunt. He told her that he still secretly hoped that the war would end, and that he would be able to have the 'normal' life he had always dreamed of. He told her how he hoped that Dean could find a family and have a home for the first time in his life. He told her everything he could think of, and when he was through, he felt like a ton of bricks had been lifted from his shoulders.

_**Just as soon as I see you  
But didn't I, but didn't I tell you  
As deep as I need you,  
You wanna leave it all**_

"Dude!" The younger brother exclaimed as he found his older brother's girlfriend next to him in the Impala, "What _is_ this?"

Dean grinned, "Spring break."

"Oh, God," Sam remarked, smacking a hand to his forehead in frustration as he wondered if Dean was dropped on his head as a baby.

"What?"

"_Spring Break_? Dean, you're thirty one. You're too old to be going on Spring Break. Besides '**we have a job to do**'." Sammy was most obviously mocking his older brother, who had at one time lived, breathed, and all but fucked his 'career'. Dean seemed unfazed however.

"Shut up Sammy, and live a little." Dean replied, "Besides, we can bring your_ friend _with us."

Dean gestured to the red head who was longingly staring after Sammy, expecting him to leave her behind again. Sammy looked over his shoulder back at the woman he had spent almost three weeks with. _**  
**_

_**What can I do?  
Say it's true  
Or everything that matters breaks in two  
Say it's true  
I'll never ask for anyone but you  
But I know what you want is to figure it out  
And god knows I do too  
What can I do?  
Say it's true  
I'll never ask for anyone but you**_

"Do you want to come with us?" Sammy asked, sitting on the porch beside Quinn. Dean and Ross were busy making out on the hood of the Impala from where it sat in the driveway.

"Well, that all depends, Sam."

"Depends on?" Sammy questioned, staring at her as she stared at his brother in disgust.

"Whether or not they're going to be doing **that** the whole trip," She replied, resting her head on one of those amazing shoulders of his.

"I make no promises, but at least we'll get a chance to figure each other out," Sam said, wrapping an arm around the woman.

"How can I say no to that?" She asked, "God knows I need a chance to figure _you_ out Sam Winchester."

He smiled again, "Maybe we should go before they start having sex right in front of your whole neighborhood."

"Maybe; I don't think old widow Jamison would like that too much," Quinn replied, "Won't I need... um, clothes?"

Sam laughed, "That might be a good idea, but hurry and pack -- I don't know what it might be like out here in five minutes."

Quinn laughed as she went back inside to pack her bags, and as Sammy stood, he felt weak in the knees for the first time since Jessica. Maybe, Sammy thought, just maybe this was going to end up filling the void that Jess had left behind. It was a far stretch, but it was a hope, and that was more than Sam had had for a long time. _**  
**_


	4. Ghost of You

**IV. The Ghost Of You  
Summary:** John's heading home for the first time since Mary died.  
**Disclaimer:**I do not own Supernatural, John, or Mary Winchester. "Ghost of You" is copyrighted by My Chemical Romance. Excuse any errors; I just wanted to post this really bad.  
**Authors Note:** R&R?

* * *

**_I never said I'd lie and wait forever  
If I died, we'd be together  
I can't always just forget her  
But she could try_**

The miles flew by, just like the years had, and as John inched closer and closer to where she had died he felt the tears building. He suddenly wished that he had brought the boys with him rather than left them at Bobby's. They would have kept him strong; after all, they were the reason that he was still alive, still breathing. He felt like nothing without Mary at his side. He didn't feel like Superman anymore, even though he knew he was the closest he had ever come to being a superhero.

The house that held all of their old memories was in sight now. John sat at the stop sign staring at it, fearing what entering it would mean. It would mean that she was gone. He had secretly hoped that the past eleven years of Hell had just been one incredibly vivid nightmare. He wanted to wake from his nightmare and kiss his gorgeous wife "Good Morning." But he knew he couldn't, and he knew he couldn't wait forever for things to be as they had been.

Still the thought remained. If he died, he could be with her again in heaven, if such a place existed and he was sure it would be beautiful. But John could hear Mary's ghost telling him that it wasn't his time - not yet, at least.

Only the loud, obnoxious honking brought him back to reality. The old, red Corvette sped around him, and took a left back into town. John couldn't just forget about her, that simply wasn't an option, and so he would face this. He would face the room she had died in for not only his own sake, but for hers and the boys' as well.

**_At the end of the World,  
Or the last thing I see  
You are never coming home, never coming home  
Could I? Should I? _**

If Nostradamus and the Aztecs were right, then the world was indeed coming to an end. That fact didn't really surprise or phase John; he had seen things normal people never would have even imagined. Demons, werewolves, vampires, wendigos, chupacabras - all monstrous, horrible beings. If he were God, he would be pissed the fuck off too.

And he had previously imagined that he would die with his wife of old age, peacefully dying together in their warm queen-sized bed as they snuggled. He had dreamt of grand kids, normalcy. For the years after the death of Mary, John had dreamed of Dean having a home, and Sammy having a family when he grew up. Those dreams seemed far away now, a sweet nothing in the December of '73 or the thin line of smoke from a joint that had been put out years ago.

Here he was, staring into Sam's old nursery. The walls and floors bare. The house had been repaired, but if you looked closely enough, you could still see her outline in the ceiling. It was too much for John to handle. He was "home", but she would never be back here with him. Never.

And it hurt him every time he woke up realizing that she never would come home again.

**_And all those things that you never ever told me  
And all the smiles that are ever ever_**

John stared into the bedroom they had once shared. The walls no longer that pale blue color that Mary had so loved, the floors beneath his feet no longer carpeted. It was an empty, hollow shell of what it had once been - just like he was. Carefully, he stepped inside. The floor creaked under his sturdy brown boots, unaccustomed to the extra weight. He grimaced; each creaked sounded like a scream for urgent help. One of the floor boards shifted - popped up on one end. He knelt down beside it and looked back up at the wall. It would have been where the foot of their bed was. He lifted it further, inspected the hollow.

He reached inside and pulled out a small cloth-covered book. It was light blue, the pages were yellowed and smelled of smoke and decay. The book was thicker than it should of been - papers, photographs, a rosary stuffed between it's pages, stretching its binding spine almost impossibly. He glanced inside of the cover as he shifted his weight and scooted until his back touched the wall near the entrance door. The first page read:

_Mary Winchester  
October 1982-August 1983_

It was her meticulous scrawl sitting there between his hands in faded blue ink. It had been years since he had seen so much as a few letters of her delicate script, but he knew it was hers instantly. He didn't know whether to smile, or to cry. He did neither, simply read on. It talked about her newly discovered pregnancy, about how excited she was for little baby Sammy to arrive. She wrote about her love for John, and about Dean's first T-Ball game. There was an ultrasound of Sam that John didn't remember seeing before, a photo of them at the hospital with the newborn Sammy in Mary's arms, another picture of Dean at three years old sitting in a chair and holding on to Sam carefully.

The diary brought back memories that John was happy to remember now; exposed happy secrets about Mary that he wished he had known sooner. But, there was one disconcerting thing: Mary also wrote about worrying about the baby, and about a specific date that haunted John still. That would haunt him until he died.

**_Ever get the feeling that you're never all alone?  
And I remember now  
At the top of my lungs, in my arms she dies  
She dies_**

Hours had passed, and John sat sitting against the wall thumbing the wooden beads of the rosary. What had they meant? Hail Marys and The Lords Prayers? He could remember which was which. John hadn't stepped into a church (with the exception of Pastor Jim's, of course) in years. After Mary was taken from him prematurely, after all he had seen, he had lost faith in any kind of just, loving God. If there was a God, John believed, then he surely didn't care about the Winchester family.

Sammy had never gotten the chance to know his wonderful mother. Dean could probably barely remember her at all by now. They had never met their Grandparents, had never been able to. John was a widower, and they spent their life on the road fighting things that seemingly spewed straight from Hell's gaping mouth. It wasn't --

"Mary?" He questioned the empty room, misty eyes surveying the area. The lights flickered gently lightly.

"You're here, baby?" John asked, disbelievingly. The lights flickered again, and John burst out in tears. A brilliant flash of fire appeared before his eyes and dissolved into his beautiful wife. She knelt before him, and he wrapped his arms around her. "I love you," He sniffed uneasily.

"I love you too, John," She said without opening her mouth. She crumpled to ash in his arms.

**_At the end of the World,  
Or the last thing I see  
You are never coming home, never coming home  
Could I? Should I? _**

John started awake in a cold sweat. His arms wrapped tightly about his body, the diary pressed between his torso and forearms. He tucked it safely away inside his coat and wiped the tears from his face. He checked his cell phone - Dean and Bobby Singer had called while he slept.

He looked around the now brightly lit room. The sun streamed in through the windows, and warmed his tense muscles into relaxation. He stood on shaky knees that felt as if his muscles had forgotten how to move. He stood there quietly for a moment. "Mary?" He whispered. He waited.

He waited for at least an hour, but nothing happened. It was only a dream; of course, it was. Mary had moved on, John knew that. But he could still hope, could still wish for her. He did every day, and he assumed he would until the apocalypse came.

John trudged down the stairs and left through the back door as cospicously as he had come. He turned back towards the house stared up at it. He had come home, but he never would. Neither would his boys. Neither would his wife. Maybe one day he would grow to accept that, but for the time being, he would have to live with the fact that there was no home sweet home.

**_And all the things that you never ever told me  
And all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me  
Never coming home, Never Coming Home  
Could I? Should I? _**

John climbed into the Impala, turned on the engine. She purred to a start. The radio blared _Fat Bottom __Girls_ by Queen, and John quickly clicked it off. He pulled out of the empty parking lot and began on his long trek back to Bobby's junkyard.

The diary was pressed against his heart by the seatbelt. He wondered how many things he never had the chance to tell Mary. How many times he could have told her he loved her. He wondered if he could have saved her if he had known what he did now. He told himself he could, but sometimes he doubted it. He wasn't strong enough, not even now. He never would be. He couldn't save her, couldn't... save her.

John wondered hopelessly about all the other secrets Mary had kept. About all the things she wished she could have told him before she died. He wondered if she ever thought that they wouldn't grow old together. She never, would never, know her sons as adults. John would never know who they could have been.

But he carried the burden of memory. He remembered her smile, her laugh. Remembered the way she cuddled him after they made love, and the way he kissed his chest before they did. He remembered the way she sang Dean to sleep, and the way she rocked Sammy in the rocking chair in the nursery until he curled into his mother in slumber. He would always remember the first time they kissed and the last. He could never forget the way she smiled after their sons were first born - the way she smiled as though she were the first mother. He would remember the way she smiled at him before he left for work in the morning.

And most importantly, he would remember how she loved them.

For those reasons, and many more, he hoped Dean and Sam never had to return to Lawrence, Kansas.

**_And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me  
For all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me_**

John parked the Impala in Bobby's driveway and turned off the engine. Dean stood at the door, skeptically staring at his father. He hoped that Dean would never carry these burdens. Hoped that Sammy could have the normalcy he dreamed of. John hoped that one day, the wounds would heal; the scars would remain, they always did, but he hoped that at least the wounds would heal completely one day.

He got out of the car, shut the door, and strolled up to the front door casually. He smelled fried chicken, holy water, salt. Nine-year-old Sammy called for his Daddy in the kitchen. Dean hugged his father as though he hadn't seen him in months.

"When you didn't answer, we feared the worst," He explained.

John hugged his son tightly, "Ghosts will never catch me Dean, you know that."

"That's cause our dad's superman, duh," Sammy told Dean, pushing him out of the way to hug his father.

Bobby rolled his eyes in the background and held up a beer. John nodded affirmatively; he could use a cold one.


	5. Drugs or Jesus

**V. Drugs or Jesus**

**Summary: **Bobby remembers his home-town and goes through an almost unnoticeable transformation.

**Disclaimer: **Supernatural is © Eric Kripke or McG or both. "Drugs or Jesus" is © to Mr. Tim McGraw from the album 'Live Like You Were Dying'.

**Author's Note: **I had to use a country song for Bobby; anything else just wouldn't have fit him so well. And yes, Eureka, South Dakota is a real place; I used that particular city/town because of the SyFy show of the same name. I thought it fitting. . . Also, this chapter has a lot to do with religion, so... yeah.

* * *

_**In my home town****  
For anyone who sticks around****  
You're either lost or you're found****  
There's not much in between  
****In my home town  
****Everything's still black and white  
****It's a long, long way from wrong to right  
From Sunday morning to Saturday night**_

Bobby Singer was known to most people outside of the supernatural realm as a salvager. A man who did little more than stayed hidden inside of his crappy house at the bad end of town. He didn't do anything worth while - but he also didn't cause any trouble. Most folks hadn't bothered him since his wife's funeral, and if he were completely honest with himself, that was all the same to him. Things had changed a lot since Bobby had been forced to kill Elizabeth. The townspeople wouldn't understand the pentagrams, or the devil's traps, or the books about demons. He'd likely end up in the McKinley Asylum if anyone even set foot in his house and took a glance around.

In Eureka, South Dakota the only people that stayed there had either lived there all their lives or, after getting lost, stayed there and made a life for themselves with a small shop or as a lumberjack. Many of the people that remained didn't see shades of grey. You were either good or bad. Your house was nice or it was a pile of shit. Your family had a bad or a good reputation. But Bobby, of all people, knew that there was so much more grey to it than that. Life wasn't in high contrast. He had heard from the Winchester boys of angels that wanted death and destruction, of Vampires who resisted the urge to drink human blood, of demons who were willing to help them. Still, the town didn't know these things. The old lady Umbers liked to tell Bobby how she was sure that there was a good, gracious and just God with a deceitful, libertine, destructive Devil to counteract him. She believed the world had balance. Bobby wasn't so sure.

Every Sunday morning the Catholics went to the small century-old cathedral at the south end of town. The Baptists went to a small hall reserved for that specific use on Sunday mornings over on East Madison Avenue. The Methodists went to a small church only a couple miles from the Singer Salvage Yard, and the very few Jewish residents of Eureka had to travel to a bigger city to get to a synagogue. Most of these residents could have been found the night before at the local bars, or in their bedrooms with cheap dates, or at the very same hall they worshiped God in, gambling. The irony was almost too much for Bobby to bare; usually he found himself laughing it off as he made his way into town to get beer,ammo, or groceries. On Sunday morning the town was full of saints, and on Saturday nights the town was filled with sinners.

_**Everybody just wants to get high****  
Sit and watch a perfect world go by****  
We're all looking for love and meaning in our lives  
We follow the roads that lead us  
To drugs or Jesus**_

Bobby had more than once caught teenagers with weed, or something more, behind one of the old cars in his salvage yard. He knew more than one of the town men had a cocaine problem. Bobby watched his childhood best friend die of liver failure due to a life long addiction to whiskey. Yeah, Eureka, just as most small towns, had a problem with drugs. Seemed like everyone was either a patron of the church services or an addict. While some went to church, others sat on their porches with a beer and cigarette in one hand, waving to passers by. Bobby passed the houses with the beer-bellied 40- and 50-somethings sitting on their porches and realized that some people just wanted to watch the world pass them by.

Old Jimmy Johnson down on Elm found his poison in a bottle of scotch every Saturday evening. He was Bobby's English teacher in high school, and after he retired he did little more than sip from his tumbler. His wife, like Bobby's, had died rather young. She was 32 when she succumbed to a heart attack, and ever since then, he hadn't been the same. He had given up the search for love, and after retirement, the search for meaning. He followed a certain path that most in the town seemed to follow: the road to drugs.

Now, Bobby was far from an evangelist, but he believed that there was something ("God") out there. It was hard not to when you saw the things he did. It was hard to believe that there was nothing good out there when there seemed to be so much evil. Even harder when the impossible had happened: Dean Winchester had been pulled from Hell with nothing but an angel's handprint left on him. Bobby had researched for weeks; there was only one explanation: Angels. The mercenaries of God were the only ones who had the power to pull a damned soul from Hell.

Like Mr. Johnson, Bobby had turned to alcohol to comfort him while Dean was in Hell. He sat in his house drinking and moping. Bobby had felt like he failed his sons - or the closest thing he had to sons at any rate - by letting the elder die and the youngest go pretty much insane with guilt. He had loved Dean and Sam like sons, and it nearly tore him apart when they had to bury Dean. Sam barely spoke before he left on his mission to find a way to save Dean. Thoughts of religion didn't even enter his mind. After all, it wasn't like he could pray Dean out of Hell.

With the Winchester boys and with hunting, Bobby had found both love _and_ meaning in everything he did. When Dean died and Sam left, everything seemed to stop. He found himself sitting in his living room, doing little more than drinking strong liquor and listening to old records. Bobby spent weeks on end reminiscing about Elizabeth, his life, and the Winchesters. He wondered why, if there was a God, that he hadn't helped him - hadn't saved him from the horrendous trials and turmoil.

Once Dean showed up on his door step, and proved himself to in fact be Dean Winchester rather than a shapeshifter or demon, however, everything seemed to change.

_**My whole life****  
I've tried to run, I've tried to hide  
****From the stained glass windows in my mind  
Refusing to let God's light shine  
Down on me  
Down on me**_

Bobby looked up at the church and raised a graying brow curiously. He _really_ didn't want to go in, but he thought staring at it might help. Religion was kind of foreign to Bobby Singer, and he hadn't been to church in almost twenty years. He thought better of going in; it would bring unwanted attention to him. He went back to his house and, instead of drinking coffee and shooting the shit with Dean, he thanked God for bringing his 'son' back to him.

It had taken twenty years, but his mind was finally reopened to the possibility of the Christian God. He felt lighter, more accepting than he had in years. Every day felt better, like he had been missing some integral part of his life all along. Bobby prayed every night, thanking God for what little he seemed to have and for being able to help people. Though the Winchesters didn't seem to detect a change in Bobby, the same could not be said opposite way around.

Bobby Singer observed that the boys were changed: dramatically so in some cases, subtly so in others. Dean, for instance, seemed to understand in a higher power that he had never before accepted. Sam, on the other hand, was losing his faith and becoming a person Bobby wasn't sure he quite agreed with. His obsession with "putting Lilith" down wasn't healthy. Dean had a point when he told Sam that he was back from Hell - that there was no reason to go after her now, but Sam disagreed. He seemed possessed with vengeance. It worried Bobby, and it worried Dean too.

He just wished Sam would see the good things that had happened to him (even if there weren't many) and focus less on the bad.

_**Everybody just wants to get high****  
Sit and watch a perfect world go by****  
We're all looking for love and meaning in our lives  
****There's not much space between us  
Drugs or Jesus**_

Bobby sat at the end of a bar somewhere in south-east Michigan staring at Dean and Sam. Each had a beer in hand, and Bobby could have sworn that he saw the bartenderess slip Dean a joint a half an hour earlier. He turned and looked around the bar. A typical place that drew the Winchester boys: lonely sad old men sat in the corners, their flannel shirts covering fattening bodies and sad stories. If you asked any one of them, they would say they didn't know where the years had gone.

Some of them quite obviously had experiences with LSD and Marijuana in the 1960s. Men with long beards and longer hair, who looked like they never let go of being a hippie. They were voyeurs; men who refused to live their lives but were more than pleased to watch the world go by.

Now, Bobby realized that there was very little that separated him from them. He too seemed to wear flannel shirts. He spent countless nights at the end of a bar with a bottle of whiskey within reach. But he got out, he made something of his life. While they never found their meaning, he had long ago.

"You alright, Bobby?" Dean asked, cocking a brow before taking a long sip from his beer.

Bobby smiled warmly, "Yeah."

"Alright," Dean said, skeptically and went back to drinking his beer.

_**Everybody wants acceptance****We all just want some proof  
Everyone's just looking for the truth**_

"Bobby do you ever doubt what's going to happen to us?" Sam asked while Dean went to the bathroom.

Bobby looked over at Sam, surprised, "What do you mean 'happen to us'?"

"In a year, two years? Ten?"

Bobby had to admit it was a good question - albeit a little out of the blue - and nodded, "We all have doubts about what's going to happen to us. The only thing we really know that happens to everyone is that they are born and that they die. The journey between and after is a mystery ... or a mystery to most of us."

Dean had come out of the bathroom and Bobby's attention had went to him when he said the last bit of the sentence.

"What do you really think of Castiel?"

Bobby shrugged, "I think he's just as clueless as we are, for the most part."

Dean came back, and Sam shut up. Bobby realized that Sam was looking for something more. He wanted to know that his life was going to be worth it, when everything was said and done. He had made a mistake by killing Lilith, but it would have happened regardless. Castiel and Zachariah had told Dean that it was fate - that everything was predestined to be that way. Once a prophet had written it down, it would happen no matter what. Chuck had written it, so it had happened.

Sam wasn't the only one looking for truth, or proof, or acceptance. Everyone in the bar, in the world, was looking for those things. Quinn, Dean, Ross, and Bobby. Sammy, Ruby, and even Bela. That was just the way things worked. The human race, for the most part, was ignorant of things that happened outside of their bubbles or parts of the world. Even those who were "in the know" hardly knew anything at all.

Bobby turned to Dean, "Heading back to California soon?"

Dean nodded, solemnly, "Ross doesn't like being out there all alone now that she knows everything."

"I don't blame her," Bobby nodded.

_**Everybody just wants to get high  
Sit and watch a perfect world go by  
We're all looking for love and meaning in our lives  
We follow the roads that lead us  
To drugs or Jesus**_

Bobby sat on Ross' front porch with a cold one in hand and smiled as kids passed by on their bikes. One waved, and Bobby waved back. He turned and looked over his shoulder at Dean and Ross who were looking quite cozy on the porch swing. Sam and Quinn, meanwhile were throwing around a baseball in the front lawn.

For the first time in a long time, Bobby was perfectly contented and everything seemed as it should. For one day, at least, there were no ghouls, or ghosts, or god-damn demons to disrupt them. As much as it seemed like it was too good to be true, Bobby Singer decided to cherish it while it lasted.

For once, Bobby Singer would sit and watch a 'perfect' world pass him by, and that suited him just fine.


End file.
